


Vicissitude

by PurpleMajesty



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Bondage, Choking, Come Eating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemies to enemies who fuck, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual Spanking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romantic Fluff, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, Spit Kink, Swearing, Trusty Slab AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMajesty/pseuds/PurpleMajesty
Summary: Set in the AU from the 20th Anniversary Episode. Plankton and Krabs' live action variations of themselves (Charleston and Slabs) have butted heads as business rivals for more years than anybody cares to count. But what happens when on one fateful day, Slabs reveals a plan of his own to bring Charleston down to size? It's been a long time coming...The smutty saga continues in chapters 2&3!
Relationships: Eugene Krabs/Sheldon J. Plankton, Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton
Comments: 19
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: hello, thanks for reading my work. It's my first attempt at a fanfiction. It's also pure filth, so be warned.  
> That being said, I hope you enjoy it. If you're easily triggered by rape and humiliation themes, or simply bothered by your favourite childhood characters getting into explicit situations with each other, then this story is not for you.  
> ** I do not wish to offend or direct any form of harm toward any of the actors portraying these characters in the show - it's just a bit of fun. **

An average, unremarkable day at the Trusty Slab, so it would seem. The sun shone down as residents of the town strolled past the restaurant doors, moving this way and that, seemingly without a care in the world. Inside, there was a steady line of customers hungrily waiting to order their lunch. Just as usual - nothing seemed out of place at all.  
Except for one thing: it almost seemed... too quiet to Manward. A tad too unremarkable. He stood behind his usual place at the cash register, contemplating this fact to himself as a customer umm-ed and ahh-ed for far longer than was humanly necessary. That was routine in this joint - Manward tended to just zone out and find his happy place whenever it happened these days to avoid seething with rage at these endless hordes of sodium-enriched simpletons, as well as possibly costing himself his only source of income.

Today, however, all he could think to himself was that something was not quite right. Yes, something _was_ out of place. Usually around this time on a Monday morning he'd be treated to a front row view of Charleston conducting some hair-brained scheme to obtain the Slabby Patty Super Secret Sauce recipe, only to have his skinny ass handed to him by the much plumper Slabs, the proprietor of this classy establishment. Yet, the lunch rush had just started, and no Charleston. He was simply nowhere to be seen. Was he just planning something huge for today? What was he up to? These questions circled Manward's mind distractedly as he stared over at Jimbob the fry cook, who was flipping his patties as usual, humming to himself happily and beaming from ear to ear as he did so. He sure hadn't seemed to have noticed that anything was up - but then, why would he? That kid lived on another planet. Turning his gaze back toward the long line of now impatient-looking customers, Manward wished he did too.

_____

Once the day's shift was mercifully over a few hours later, Manward and Jimbob were tasked with closing down and cleaning the restaurant from top to bottom, ready for the next day's work. Overworked and underpaid, Manward thought to himself bitterly for the thirteenth time that afternoon.

"Boys! Where are the two of you?" came a gruff, booming voice from the bottom of the restaurant's basement stairs.

"We're making your floors look sparkling clean, Mr Slabs, sir!" sang Jimbob in reply. Manward rolled his eyes.

"Well never mind that, lad! I've got something to show you. Bring Manward down with you as well, heck, bring the whole neighbourhood! I want everybody laying eyes on this!"

Puzzled, the two men obeyed and stepped down into the darkness of the basement below. Neither of them could believe what their eyes were met with when they reached the bottom of the steps and entered the large, dimly-lit room together. The walls were lined with barrels filled with an assortment of various supplies. In the centre of the room stood Slabs, triumphant with both hands on his hips, staring straight ahead at the opposing wall. 

There, with his wrists chained high above his head from straps dangling down from the ceiling and slender legs strapped to the hard brick wall behind him, stood Charleston, with a ball gag fixed firmly in his mouth. His one good eye was scanning the room nervously before darting over to where the two uncertain employees stood staring back. A muffled cry for help came forth, unanswered. Slabs chuckled darkly.

"Well, well, what do you think, crew? Old man Slabs has really outdone himself this time, if I say so myself," he gloated. "Our old arch rival, big tough guy with his laser guns and long fancy words, just take a gander at him now! I knew I'd find you skulking around in our back alley earlier, creep." Manward peered over at Charleston with a raised eyebrow. “But you're not so smart now, eh, Charleston? Didn't expect this to happen, did you?” Slabs snickered.

"THIS is what you've been up to all day? Instead of doing your _job_ as our manager," he spat venomously, "you've been down here orchestrating this... what exactly is this? Your master plan for putting an end to this idiot's antics once and for all? You're just going to keep him down here in this dingy hole forever?"

"Pipe down, Mr Manward! I'll have you know that I have been preparing this little treat for far longer than just these past few hours. What, do you think these restraints just appeared out of thin air? No, I've long had enough of this weirdo and his failed schemes to steal me business! But now," Slabs lowered his voice to an ominous monotone, "that comes to an end. I'm standing up for what's mine."

"Hurray! The Trusty Slab is safe forever!" cried Jimbob, scaring the living daylights out of Manward in the process.

"Would you shut up! I've had enough of this place and its insane inhabitants for one night! Frankly I couldn't care less about any of this. I'm going home." And with that, Manward turned on his heel and left.

"You'd better get going too, boy," said Slabs. "Run along, now."

"But Mr Slabs, don't you wan-"

"Run along." It wasn't a request that was up for debate.

"Yes Sir!" Jimbob recognised this, waved his obliviously cheery goodbyes to both his boss and Charleston, and skipped naïvely away back up the stairs and out of the building. Maybe Mr Slabs will have Mr Charleston finish mopping all his floors for him, he pondered. He didn't like to leave a job unfinished, but he was sure that Mr Charleston would do a great job.

Slabs turned back to Charleston. They were now utterly alone together. Charleston tried to swallow but the gag made it difficult and besides, his throat felt constricted from fear. Slabs usually threw him out on his ass into the alleyway of the restaurant - many a time he had lain there, slightly concussed among the hot trash bags festering in the sun, contemplating his latest failure. Slabs had a good amount of size on him and could have thrown him around like a ragdoll if he'd wanted. The most violent thing his considerably more successful business rival had done to him prior to this was grab him by the scruff of his turtleneck sweater on a couple of occasions.  
But this? This was a whole new level of fucked up. What did he plan to do to him now that he was here, overpowered, helpless and held completely at the mercy of the larger man?

For a while, Slabs didn't say anything, just stared at his enemy with an almost longing, wistful kind of look in his eyes. Then he said, "I've been thinking about this for a long time."  
He took a step closer to the restrained man. Charleston averted his gaze. He didn't want to see that hungry look that his predator was giving him, running those narrowed eyes up and down his trembling frame. It felt _dirty_. It wasn't right to do this. Why didn't Slabs just beat him up already while he was this helpless and be done with it? He just couldn't understand the need for all this.

Then, one thing after another happened all quite quickly. Slabs took another step closer to his prey and reached out a large hand to stroke ever so gently up and down Charleston's left thigh, shape accentuated by the tight green jeans he wore. Dreadful realisation came crashing down on him and all at once he understood: that drunken, gleeful look in his nemesis' eyes had been lust.

“Whoops. I just can't help myself...”  


Charleston began to panic then, hyperventilating, ribs jutting visibly through the thin fabric of his signature green turtleneck. Frantically he pulled against his restraints, eye searching around the dismal, dank room for some form of escape. What on earth had possessed his longest business rival to want to do _that_ to him? He couldn't do this. Oh no, he couldn't do this-

He looked to Slabs desperately with a pleading look in his eye, whimpering, unable to yell, to threaten and coerce like he wanted. His silent desperation only seemed to serve to spur Slabs on further. The older man looked him straight in the eye as he moved his other hand forward to grip Charleston's waist hard, the hand stroking up and down his thigh now travelling up and between his legs. Charleston attempted to jerk away, shouting through the gag in a futile effort to be heard. "No! No!" 

"Heh. What's the matter? Something there you don't want me to touch?" He cupped his hand fully against his crotch, giving it a gentle, teasing squeeze. "I can sure feel something."

Ugh, ew, NO! thought Charleston. Shut up. Don't listen...

The hand, feather-light, began to graze playfully back and forth against his crotch, accentuating with the occasional gentle squeeze.

This is not happening, he thought to himself dispairingly. This is a dream. I am not here. I'm back home at the Crumb Basket, sitting at my computer, talking to Ka-

The pants material was tightening. Goddamn it, it was tightening at this great oaf's touch and there was nothing he could do about it. He protested audibly but couldn't form words. Even if he could have, he was still powerless from his bonds. And now his ever so long, painfully obvious time spent sexually frustrated and touch-starved meant that he was actually getting a boner from this. It was really quite the predicament.

There was now a rather noticeable bulge in his pants. Slabs eyed it and laughed at him again, which made him blush deeply despite himself, and angle his head down, casting his gaze once more away from that of Slabs.

"For all the struggling and protesting, your body sure seems to love this. It wants me to do this, doesn't it? Even if you don't," he crooned, angling the younger man's disgraced face back up towards him and regarding it fixedly. "So pathetic. When was the last time someone else made you cum? I wonder..."

He popped open the top button of the green jeans, followed by the zipper, making a show of doing it slowly and watching for a reaction every step of the way. Charleston clenched his fists and swung his hips to one side in a fruitless attempt to evade his enemy's molesting touch, but Slabs simply hooked three fingers into his waistband and yanked him back into place, tutting.  
Charleston immediately, stupidly, repeated his previous action as though it would help him in the slightest and Slabs almost barked out a mocking laugh in response - he hadn't expected the guy to have this little common sense, even if he was facing being basically raped in a few moments.

By way of retaliation, Slabs raised a palm and smacked it across Charleston's face hard. Realising he rather enjoyed how it made him feel, he did it again, and again. Charleston, reeling, shook his head a little and tried to re-focus his vision.

"Be a good boy, will you? You want me to stop? We're barely even getting started."

The younger man's jeans now hung open, exposing his hipbones, the pale skin of his abdomen rising and falling with his deep and unsteady breaths. Slabs ran his tongue across his teeth as he placed both strong hands on either side of Charleston's hips, yanking his pants and underwear down and freeing his aching erection, leaving the discarded clothing pooling around his ankles. To Charleston's most intense embarrassment, this most sacred, private part of his body was now suddenly on full display in all its arousal.

"Such a pretty dick," Slabs noted, the lust dripping from his voice causing the smaller man to shudder deliciously.

Charleston then inhaled sharply as Slabs gripped him with a calloused, saliva-slicked hand and his heart missed a beat. He felt so exposed, intensely humiliated, angry, yet there was also another, slightly pleasurable feeling buried underneath these others. An undeniable pang of arousal at being treated like this by his biggest enemy.

His fully exposed cock now throbbed in anticipation, already secreting precum. Slabs noticed this.

"You're practically jumping in my hand. Calm down," he chided condescendingly. "I'm sure you don't want this to be over too soon. Or do you...?" He brought his face close to Charleston's, breathing him in blissfully and tracing the tip of his tongue along his jawline. Truthfully, Charleston didn't even know the answer to that right now.

Slabs' hand began to stroke him at a slow and practiced pace, up and down the shaft in a tight grip that undeniably felt good. Charleston felt weak and almost numb from the waist down, finding it difficult to keep his footing as his body fought between the instinct to pull away from this intrusive touch and simultaneously thrust into this monster's warm, wet hand. It didn't help that the pervert was crooning to him softly all the while, taunting him gently about this vulnerable position he'd found himself in, mouth close to his ear, intermittently peppering kisses and firm bites along his neck that made Charleston fight back a groan of pain; he wasn't going to play up to Slabs' sick desires any more than he could help it. But the more that hand moved, the less he cared about his pride. He'd gotten so used to his own reliable lefty, hadn't felt the caressing touch of another person's hand down there for such a long time until this dubious encounter. The intimacy of it all, combined with the sensation from the muscles of his legs and arms aching and cramping at their own unkind treatment was an overwhelming assault on the senses. He tried to be quiet but instead found all sorts of small, needy, breathy sounds inadvertently spilling out of him, aided by the gag which was cutting into his mouth awkwardly and making it harder to breathe regularly.

Charleston, embarrassingly, could already feel his climax building. His clammy hands flexing above him, for a fleeting moment his inhibitions escaped him and he allowed himself a low, muffled girly moan through the large gag in his mouth as a wave of pleasure rolled over him. At this, Slabs once more closed the space between them, stepping into his personal bubble, studying Charleston's face closely and smirking. He mewled in response, cheeks still flushed, eye peering up into Slab's face feebly, as if begging him to have mercy. However Slabs was clearly getting off on this treatment, his idea of teaching Charleston his rightful place in the pecking order. Humiliation had never served to deter him before, but perhaps that would change after this.

At this point, though, Charleston was melting into his touch. Fuck it, it felt so wrong and so good he couldn't help but let his little pitiful moans spill out now unabashed, accidently drooling around the gag on one side until it hung down and dripped to the ground. Even further humiliation.

He whimpered once more in embarrassment at this, earning a dark chuckle from his tormentor.  
"Feels that good?" he mocked seductively, eyes still fixed on his adversary's flushed face.

What to Charleston felt like hours of endless sexual torture and ridicule was in reality only a matter of minutes, and now he found himself close to the brink of orgasm. Slabs could sense it too.

"You're flexing in my hand. You're this close already?" he commented coolly. "Imagine getting this worked up over a handjob. You're worse than a teenager."

He didn't care how he insulted him, his sweet release approached no weaker nor slower in response as he bucked his hips erratically into Slab's touch, eye thrown back in its socket for just a moment so that only the white was visible, his face angled up toward the ceiling causing the veins and tendons in his neck to strain out seductively as he came with a strangled noise close to a sigh. Slabs clasped his free hand around Charleston's throat and kept a firm grip there to hold him still as multiple hot ropes of cum shot from his manhood, enough to both drip to the floor and cover Slabs' hand generously. Charleston could feel his attacker's own hardness digging into his thigh as he choked him more roughly.

Almost instantaneously, Slabs removed his chokehold on the shorter man's throat and reached up to free him from his bondage, releasing first his hands, followed by his legs. Charleston wondered if he should attempt to make a run for it, only to remember that the restaurant had already been locked up for the evening, so he had nowhere to run to. Plus, his pants were around his ankles and he'd have to shift into maximum overdrive to stand a chance of evading recapture. Slabs, in that eventuality, would effortlessly catch up to him and then, probably, really let him have it. He shuddered internally at the thought of what his attacker might do if provoked in such a way.

Slabs shook his soiled hand so that more of the fluid spattered to the floor, before forcing the smaller man to his bony knees, who narrowly avoided falling front-first into the small puddle of his own spent seed discarded on the cold basement floor. Slabs took off his own tie and used it to re-tie Charleston's hands tightly behind his back, his wrists twisting around in discomfort in an attempt at loosening the knot that was causing his hands to feel far too constricted. At last Slabs removed the gag from around Charleston's head and discarded it hastily, as well as pulling his crumpled pants entirely from his body, freeing his ankles.

“Don't think this means you can start hollering. No one’s gonna come running to save the likes of you. This is what you deserve,” he sneered cruelly down at the once again restrained man. In actual fact, Charleston hadn't been planning on doing any such thing; rather, he’d figured at this point that his best option, so as best to avoid any further injury or ill treatment, was to simply obey his captor completely. He didn't stand a chance against him. This would all be over soon enough.

"I won't. I promise. Just do what you want with me and then let me go home to my shithole restaurant. I won't tell anybody and I won't come back here anymore. No recipe is worth this,” he murmured, voice barely reaching a volume above a whisper. “And... please don't hurt me.”

Slabs let out a sigh. “You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing you beg and grovel for me. Alright, a deal's a deal, I’ll let you get back to your crap shack soon enough. But you're not getting outta here having had yours,” he ran his fingers through Charleston's lush brown hair and closed them, gripping the back of his head firmly, “without giving me what I need in return.”

Slabs pulled the defeated man towards his large bulge, rubbing his unwilling face against it in a vulgar fashion. Once he was satisfied with the other man's half-disgusted, half-curious expression, he began to deftly unbuckle his own belt, opening his pants and pulling out his rock hardness.

Charleston, faced for the first time in his life with another man's pulsating arousal directly in front of him, was suddenly overcome with apprehension. A visible look of hesitancy crossed his face for a moment. The sight of it before him, the smell... suddenly he felt so much younger and inexperienced than his years.

“I-I've never... I don't-" he began to stammer anxiously, flushing crimson all over again.

“You've never...?” Slabs mimicked in a smug tone of voice. “What? You've never sucked dick before, that's what you mean?”

Charleston nodded feebly, looking down. He realised how exposed he still was and tried to cover himself a little by crossing one thigh over the other, struggling for balance, but it was no use.

“Well, who gives a shit? Just open your goddamn mouth. Hey, look at me. Open your mouth.”

He took a deep breath and obeyed numbly, eye travelling all the way up to meet the heavy-set man's gaze. He wasn't used to being spoken to like this, much less by another male. Self-conscious, face still burning, he awkwardly parted his pretty lips. At this, Slabs brought Charleston’s head forward onto his dick, slowly exploring his mouth with his thick cock and brushing the back of his throat as tears sprang into the man's eyes, suppressing a choke. He began to thrust further into the warm, wet tightness of his throat, Charleston unable to take this, choking hard at every thrust, drool and bile pooling quickly at the back of his mouth. He gagged some more, trying to pull away to take a breath and suppress the urge to vomit. Nevertheless, the stronger man had an unyielding hold on the back of his head, thick fingers still woven into the soft locks there. He was forced to take it, whether he could handle it or not.

"Uh-uh," Slabs tsked, unrelenting. "You need to puke, you just puke."

This went on for what felt like an eternity to Charleston. His throat was making noises he'd never even known it was capable of, wet, vile retching sounds around the intrusive object being plunged carelessly too far down it. He felt as though his abused throat was being torn up from the inside, jaw aching terribly as it was stretched open to its limit, and he was barely able to breathe a lungful of air at a time. Tears were eventually streaming down his face, drool hanging uncontrollably down from both sides of his mouth in two long, stringy strands of saliva. They were making a terrible mess of the floor, all things considered. None of this concerned him, though; he just wanted it all to be over. He wanted this terrible, fucked up human being before him to stop using his virgin throat like a cheap toy. And damn it, he wanted Slabs to stop ENJOYING it all so much. 

He was thrusting quicker now, breathing heavier, sighing and cursing in his pleasure. Finally, he stopped and slid himself out of Charleston's mouth, positioning himself over his pallid face, scraping his hair off of his forehead and aiming as he manually stimulated himself the rest of the way. Charleston felt a sense of acute relief, that was until he felt a sudden spurt of hot semen hit his face, spurt after spurt until he felt plastered in it. It ran onto his now tightly-closed lips, and directly under his nose. The smell of semen made him struggle to fight back another gag.

Slabs stepped back to admire his handiwork, sticky cock still in hand, a large stain of moisture visible on the bottom of his pale blue shirt - his adversary's copious amounts of saliva, evidence of the debauchery that had just taken place down in the depths of the basement of the Trusty Slab. Charleston screwed his eye shut, lips still pursed in a thin line to prevent the sickly fluid from seeping through, breathing fast, shallow breaths in and out through his nostrils. It was all he could do not to pant for air in that moment.

Slabs left him alone in the room like that for a few minutes before returning, once more fully clothed and cleaned up (as best he could, anyway). Charleston was still kneeling uncomfortably on the filthy floor, legs cramping badly, arms tied and face covered in now fast-drying cum, a long strand of his own drool still hanging down from his chin. He looked so revolted with himself, so defeated and fed up that Slabs almost felt sorry for him. Almost.  
But not enough to refrain from taking the one last shred of dignity Charleston had been left with.

“Stick out your tongue. All the way,” Slabs commanded brusquely. Charleston uneasily did as he was told, despite the salty taste of the foreign semen that met his tongue.

"Yeah, that's nice. Now you need to clean that up, you messy boy. But not with your hands – they seem to be out of action for now, eh?” He couldn't mean what Charleston thought he meant. No way.

"Oh, come on! Haven't you had your sick fun with me already? You really have to kick me when I'm down...”

“I could kick you, if you're asking for it. I’ll dig my boot into the back of your sorry head and make you lap it up,” Slabs warned, the low bass of his voice sending a shiver up Charleston's spine. “Or are you going to make this easier for the both of us? It’s not like you didn't have any fun yourself, slut. I’ll let you go as soon as I'm satisfied you know your place.”

Letting out a shaky sigh, the thoroughly violated man craned his neck over the small whiteish puddle on the floor. He spread his knees open so that he could bend over more easily without losing his balance, preserving his honour a forgotten memory. The fluid on his face had mostly dried now, and stayed put as he delicately used his tongue to clean the floor of his own essence. It wasn't so bad; hey, it's not like he hadn't tasted himself before. He'd just never had an audience whilst doing so, until now.

A moment before he was done, however, he became aware of the vast silhouette of Slabs looming over him, and the distinct sound of a camera shutter sound effect. The kind one might hear when someone is taking a picture on a camera phone nearby. Sure enough, when Charleston glanced up toward the sound, Slabs was standing there with eager eyes fixated on the screen of the little black smartphone in his hands.

“I'm making that my wallpaper AND my desktop background! Hell, I'll print it and frame it for me office!” He boomed with laughter and strolled delightedly once more toward the staircased exit of the basement, then paused.  
“Oh yeah, almost forgot.” He came back to free Charleston's now-purple hands. “My tie! As for you, the back door will be unlocked. Let yourself out through the back alley and make sure you don't darken our doorstep again. If I ever see your pitiful mug anywhere close to this building from now on, it'll be that tight ass of yours that gets it next time, and don't think I'd be letting you go free so soon. Oh... and speaking of your mug, you might wanna wash it off in the bathroom before you get going. What would the neighbours say?” He cackled again before departing.

Charleston was left there, face soiled, entire body aching. He felt no sense of satisfaction now at the events which had just unfolded. Rather, he felt unclean, sickened and contaminated in his post-orgasmic clarity. He seethed at himself at the fact that he could have allowed such a vile thing to happen to him. All he could do now, though, was limp back across the street to the refuge that he called home. Although he was filled with a desire to destroy Slabs and everything he held dear to him in retribution for this, truthfully, he never wished to find the motivation to return.

_____

Tuesday morning. Jimbob was the first to arrive as per usual, at six ‘o clock sharp. Unlocking the front door to the Trusty Slab, he wondered innocently if Mr Charleston was still here. Inquisitively, he poked his head down through the basement door and listened intently. Not a sound.  
“Huh. Maybe Mr Slabs let him go already...” He padded down the steps into the darkness of the basement and turned the lights on at the switch on the wall. No sign of him here at all. But wow, he thought to himself with a childish grin. These floors sure do look clean!


	2. Bonus chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been thinking of adding another chapter for quite a while, and my friends who read and enjoyed the first part encouraged me to go for it. So here it is - the spanking chapter!  
> Funnily, I wrote a preliminary draft for this which amounted to around 6 A4 pages, wherein Slabs encounters Charleston at the Trusty Slab and administers his punishment in his office there. But it ended up getting completely scrapped and re-written, and I think I'm happier with this version. Hope you like it too!

Fast forward one month. Charleston is at home sleeping in just his boxers (dark green, like most of his wardrobe). Body lolled out on top of the covers, face down, arm angled jauntily behind his back as if handcuffed, other arm pinned by his side. One leg tucked under his torso, the other fully stretched out. This cannot be comfortable for the man unless he is perchance part-cat. In any case, this is just one of many awkward sleeping positions he commonly finds himself in upon awakening, due to the fact that many a late, late night spent plotting the downfall of all his enemies oftentimes ends in him exhaustedly collapsing upon the small comfort of his bed and falling into a deep sleep as soon as his body hits the mattress. Oh well, at least he actually managed to get undressed this time.

This morning he is just regaining consciousness, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth slovenly, and rolling onto his back, stretching out and groaning blissfully as he notices the large, heavy-set man with grey hair wearing a pale blue shirt and navy pants, who is standing watching him at the foot of his bed.

"Nice dreams?" Slabs coos at him. "You sure drool a lot when you're asleep."

Alarmed at this unwelcome visitor, Charleston yelps aloud and nearly leaps a foot in the air, scrambling to cover his dignity with a large pillow.  
"Don't be idiotic. I've seen every inch of you at this point! Well, near enough." Slabs is looking well-groomed this morning. He clicks his tongue. "I don't suppose you sleep like that every night? No wonder you have lousy posture."

"Ughhh. How did you get in my bedroom, Slabs?" Charleston demands sullenly, letting his head fall back onto the mattress with a soft bounce, crossing his arms over his face.

"Uh... you left your front door unlocked, moron," Slabs replies flatly. Charleston moves both arms down to his sides stiffly.

"Oh yeah. I see."

"What, you trying to attract a thief or a murderer?" Slabs licks his lips. "Or a rapist?"

"Don't be crass, Eugene, it doesn't suit you."

Charleston stares expressionlessly at the ceiling, but his heart is beginning to speed up in his chest. He's still wearing his eyepatch, his single blue-green eye avoiding contact with his nemesis' piercing blue ones.

Slabs crosses the cramped room towards the bed, taking a seat by the younger man's feet. Observes him for a bit, sighs impatiently. Wordlessly he yanks the pillow away from Charleston's body and tosses it aside so it hits the opposing wall. He climbs atop him, snaking his body between his legs. Slabs has him pressed down, crotch to crotch. Charleston is winded from Slabs' great weight being forced upon him so suddenly. Instinctively he moves his hands up for protection. They get pinned down too, either side of his head.

"SLABS! GET THE HELL OFFA ME!" Charleston bows his body upwards, bucking his hips up and side to side trying to free his lower half. Slabs doesn't have to do much to force them back down firmly.

"You're not smart enough, or fast enough, or strong enough to stop me from getting exactly what I want from you. How does that feel, having to submit to me? I can't imagine." Slabs is crooning at him now in that low, husky voice of his from the basement which Charleston takes as a signal that something awful may be about to happen to him. It's the same voice that has tinged his every nightmare for the past month or so.

"What's the matter with you?" Charleston can't help the distinct note of hysteria creeping into his tone. He continues his feeble struggles beneath the larger man. "I haven't bothered you in over a month. Why are you doing this to me again?"

"You wanna know the truth? I miss our little charades. Those games of cat and mouse where I always win. You were the greatest boost my ego ever had," Slabs laments, sounding for a moment like he's genuinely pining after the old routine they'd had going for twenty years. He leans his head down and licks one of Charleston's nipples playfully, causing him to yelp again.

" _I_ don't miss it. And I don't miss being manhandled by the likes of you, either, so shove off!" Growling, Charleston tries to slap him away, but quickly finding he cannot free himself even an inch, saves his energy.

Slabs' face is positioned nose to nose with his rival, whose brows are furrowed anxiously. Slabs looks down and studies the slender male closely for awhile before speaking.

"Twenty years is a looong time to have had to deal with all your rigmaroles. I've been contemplating, and came to the conclusion that what happened last time wasn't adequate enough punishment. Call this a refresher," Slabs informs him. His voice is like pure liquid danger.

Charleston would have objected to this statement had his piehole not been assaulted by a tongue just as soon as he'd opened it up to do so. Rolling his eye back and keeping his entire body completely rigid, he concedes to Slabs' open-mouthed kiss, knowing all too well that it's useless trying to fight as he'll only get hurt.

Slabs pulls back, licks away the drool still pooled at the edge of Charleston's drawn mouth and moans favourably, as if to further elucidate his own control over him. Then he wipes his own mouth on his forearm, moving back to perch on the edge of the bed.

"I’ve got another little lesson to teach, scamp. It's called ‘respect your goddamn elders’. This is how it goes." Charleston is grabbed by the arm harshly and thrown forward, face-down over Slabs' knees. He scrabbles about, panicked, but Slabs keeps one firm hand bearing down on the back of his neck, fingers digging in painfully, to hold him in place. _Oh boy_ , he thinks to himself despairingly. _I'm about to get the thrashing of a lifetime_.

The older man leers down at his half-naked adversary draped delicately across his lap. He looks so fragile, so breakable. Having him like this makes Slabs almost feel drunk with lustful anticipation.

"Now here's an age-old technique for straightening out little twerps like you," he says before hooking the fingers of his free hand into the waistband of Charleston's underwear, pulling them down sharply to expose his backside. Charleston closes his eye and tries to prepare for whatever is coming next.  
Slabs eyes his foe's bare behind appreciatively. He would never admit it aloud, but he's often found himself eyeballing it, encased in those tight green jeans the little wacko liked to wear so much. It's perky, petite yes but still a nice pert shape, and probably firm and tight too. It's a cute little tush overall particularly for a man of Charleston’s age. Slipping his hand down to where the man's skinny upper thighs meet the bottoms of his cheeks, Slabs nudges his middle finger gently in between them, feeling for his opening. Charleston's eye snaps back open and his legs jolt upward in response - oh... he hadn't bargained for this.

"Nobody's ever touched you there before? I can tell," remarks Slabs, continuing to caress this most intimate area, stroking it up and down before removing his hand, bringing it up to his own face and coating his middle and ring fingers with his saliva. They travel back down, resuming their massaging, slicking the hole with his spit.  
Charleston wants to say something devastating but no sound comes out, so he only bites his lip, face heating up. That all too familiar sensation of total and utter humiliation creeps through his skin like a drug that he's growing accustomed to.

Without any forewarning, Slabs abruptly pushes hard and forces his entire middle finger inside his hole. Charleston gasps audibly and groans, squirming as the finger immediately begins fucking in and out of him at a pace and depth he cannot take. The brunette begins to suspect that his attacker only lubricated his finger for his own ease of movement, rather than for _his_ benefit. Now he has to speak up.

"Nyggh... ugh no, stop, I can't take it, it feels weird, it feels wei-" Charleston's agitated whine is silenced by the hand weighing down on the back of his neck coiling down to cover his mouth tightly. A second later, Slabs introduces the second finger and continues fucking them into his virgin hole spitefully. Eventually Charleston finds that laying as still as he possibly can hurts slightly less than his futile squirming. Despite the minute amount of lubrication, it is clear that he is in a great deal of discomfort. Many little pained moans, protests and choked curses go stifled beneath the palm clamped over his lips.

Once Slabs is contented with the wrecked state he's gotten his nemesis into with this assault, he removes his calloused hand, running it back up to rest on the man's buttocks. Giving the left one a small squeeze, he returns the hand covering a mildly relieved Charleston's mouth to the back of his head, lacing his thick fingers through the glossy hair there and tugging back, causing him to wince.

"That wasn't what I came here to do, but I couldn't resist. Plus I think you're into this, secretly. You're kinda sick in the head... a masochist, right?" Slabs comments in that same soft, predatory voice.

Charleston fights to catch his breath.  
"Screw you, you wretched freak!" he spits. It's all that comes to his discombobulated mind. A second later he blanches as Slabs' palm connects with the tender flesh of his buttock with a hard smack. He inhales shakily through his mouth then grits his teeth together, clutching his crumpled bedsheets in one hand, the other finding its way down to grip onto the material of Slabs' trouser leg for balance. Slabs, smiling, doesn’t appear to mind this.

"Well, that shut you up pretty quickly," he snarks.

Just from the first hit, Slabs has caused a lovely pink hand-shaped mark to blossom on the pasty skin. He raises his arm once more and delivers the next blow, twice as hard this time on the same buttock - he is clearly testing the man's limits. It rings out even louder with a satisfying wet snap. Charleston whimpers in pain involuntarily, jumping a little at the contact. Tries to regain some composure, biting down on one fist. He has never experienced anything like this before. The more times he is struck in that same spot the more sensitive it becomes, and the stinging pain begins to build surprising quickly until it feels unbearable with each fresh hit. Slabs is not exactly going easy on him either. Charleston curses at himself for being so weak.

Moving his attention over to the adjacent cheek, Slabs continues this process over and over, putting all the strength he has into every spank. The din both men are making would be unmistakably telling to anybody who happened to be passing by outside at this precise moment; every strike reverberates against the sparse room's walls and earns a small shriek from the paralysed Charleston.

Eventually he is so distressed that he cannot simply lay there and wait for it to be over anymore.  
"Alright, alright! Stop it, please!" His voice is a harsh croak, cracking on the ‘please’. “It hurts, okay? It hurts really bad.”

Slabs is panting slow, laboured breaths, a heady mixture of the exertion and his own arousal. The brute’s eyes travel admiringly up and down Charleston's derrière, which is now blooming with unsightly and rather telling red finger marks.

“Would ya look at that... twenty years I've been longing to do that. Twenty fuckin' years, it's a long time coming. Maybe I got carried away there... alright, I guess you've had enough.” Slabs seems sated.

Charleston, meanwhile, uses a tremoring hand to wipe away a lock of hair plastered to his clammy forehead whilst clearly fighting back tears. His usually pallid face is flushed from embarrassed anger, pain and the blood having rushed to it due to the sustained position - usually he only turns this colour when he's screaming in frustration at Slabs or any of his good for nothing employees. In a pretty pathetic display, he finally rolls off the bed with a groan and onto the cold wood floor, scrambling clumsily to pull his underwear back up. He has to kneel because sitting on his ass is out of the question for the next week or so.

“Here you go buddy, want this?” As Charleston whips his face around, something soft collides with it. THWACK. It's the pillow he tried to shield himself with earlier. Oh, how very amusing.  
Slabs seems to think so, anyway. He tips his head back, shaking with mirth. He's once again immaculate in appearance, as if nothing ever happened between him breezing through the door this morning and now. Charleston idly ponders the possibility of manufacturing a sort of laser weapon ingrained within an eye contact, so that he really could turn this old bastard to ash just by looking at him.

“I tell you lad, owning a successful fast food restaurant is harder work than anybody gives an old man credit for. Not that you would know anything about that,” his arch enemy scoffs. “Occasionally I need to blow off some steam. Well, now you know at least one thing you're good for!” He doesn't even have the grace to look at Charleston as he insults him, ignoring his tears completely, and marches over to the door to take his leave.

“By the way, I’d get some ice on that, Sheldon.”

Still in shock, all Charleston can do is nod his head numbly, trying not to flinch at being addressed by his wretched first name. The smarmy bastard knows he hates being called that.  
_I’ll get my revenge_ , he thinks. _Maybe not today, but ohh, someday_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Wow, I can't believe it has been almost a year since I posted the first chapter of this story. I'm amazed that I've even written this amount for chapter 3. Shoutouts to Icey, EmeraldTrident and Jellygel who gave me such nice feedback - this chapter is for you guys.  
> Just to reiterate: Charleston is 50 years old, Slabs is 60 and Karen is around 25-ish.  
> Enjoy! ;)

"Okay, now let's go over the plan again. SLOWLY."

Karen, groaning loudly, rolls her eyes up toward the ceiling. "Sir, we've already been over this thing about fifteen times this morning," she complains. "Can't we just get it going already?"

Her manager, Mr Charleston, brings his fist down hard on the countertop between the two of them with a sudden loud thump. She jumps.  
"No, of course not! We need to get this _perfect_! Every single minute detail needs to be memorized or else we'll never pull it off!" he snaps back, clearly stressed out and frazzled from overthinking everything. Karen sighs, smiles a little to herself. She reaches over to her boss and pinches the skin of his left cheek between two fingers, tweaking it playfully.

"Don't worry so much, silly. You have me at your side for the first phase, remember? That's the scary part. Then comes your fun.”  
He gets that look in his eye that she can never quite decode; almost like he's looking directly through her, studying the beating of her heart or the electrical whirring inside her brain like she's a machine. Then he smiles back, that little deep dimple appearing on the cheek she'd just been touching. She loves that damn dimple. He only ever has to smile the slightest bit for it to show.

Mr Charleston never does do a lot of smiling, though. Karen’s only been working as a cashier at the Crumb Basket for six months or so at this point, but for as long as she's known him, he has seemed to be holding back from showing his full self to others. Sure, she'd realised that this 'restaurant' was basically just a glorified outhouse from the word go, and that her employer was certainly an... _eccentric_ , one who possibly has a few secrets to hide, but she needed the easy money (they literally never had a single customer, so the guy had to have riches in reserve to keep the place running. He also appeared to _live_ here too, which was... kinda wild). Plus she actually genuinely liked him. He struck her as a sort of despondent, lonely soul. A misfit. She could relate to that, as a dropout herself with no real family left to speak of.

"Alright. Fine, let's do it right now before I change my mind," he says at last, jolting her back into reality. She nods.

There had been a time when she’d asked him outright: "Why are you doing this? You could be a great scientist or an engineer or something, you could put your skills to some real use. Why this? And what's the beef between you and that Slabs guy anyway?" Or something to that affect. She’d noticed Charleston had reacted strangely to hearing Slabs' name come from her mouth. But then he'd told her everything.

Well... not quite _everything_ , of course. There were some parts to their colourful history that his only employee needn't know as far as anybody was concerned. The history that stretched back to when she would only have been in kindergarten. Truthfully he couldn't bear the thought of her finding out just how pathetic he really was compared to the man across the street, or the extent to which he had been tortured by him. Hence why she was prohibited from ever entering the Trusty Slab, or from contacting any of its hapless employees. Not that she had any real desire to in the first place; that Jimbob dude gave her the creeps, plus the place reeked of burgers and Karen, ironically enough, was a strict vegetarian. Fast food just made her sick.  
The girl had been surprisingly understanding and supportive of his plight. She had, as it turned out, suffered her own misfortunes at the hands of bullies during her young life. However unlikely, it seemed the pair had much in common, and they had grown considerably closer since this talk. Talks soon turned to plans, and now such plans were soon to be realised. It seemed that the pair were rather well-matched when it came to hatching evil plans together, although admittedly Karen was the brains of the operation.

"I'm ready, boss!" she calls out from the meagre kitchen. Charleston enters the room and grins from ear to ear, met with the sight of Karen wearing the makeshift barista costume she had crafted herself over the weekend. She is really quite the seamstress.

"You look perfect! Uh, for the character I mean. Of course." He coughs conspicuously. "Can we just run through it again? Last time. Promise."

Karen sighs dramatically, folding her arms over her grey apron. "Last time. We'll set up the pop-up stand at the side of the road - not too close to the restaurant but close enough that he'll start feeling the effects once he gets there. Caffeine addict and cheapskate that he is, he'll be sure to stop to get a cheap cup of coffee. Containing our special ingredient." She holds up the little glass vial containing a white powder. "Unbeknownst to him, naturally."

Charleston jumps on the spot and claps like an excited child. "This is gonna be sweet! Finally I'll get my revenge, and with you here to see it happen! It’s a dream come true. With you, my dear, I can’t fail."

He goes in to hug her in celebration but she swats him away. "Hold your horses, we're not even outside yet. Now you need to make sure that you won't be seen or this whole thing's blown. He's never seen me before, far as I know, and if I'm wearing this barista get-up he shouldn't suspect I actually work for you. And where are you gonna hide?"

"Right by your feet. Under the counter."

"Correct! So...?" Karen is taking control a bit, but Charleston can't care less. Secretly he loves a control freak lady bossing him around.

"So I'll be ready to spring into action when it's go-time. 'Cause we really gotta be quick, I'm not screwing around when I say that."

"Good, then," she confirms, nodding. "Let's do this."

\-----

"Morning, Sir. Would you like a steaming cup of our finest coffee, straight from the pot?" Karen says in her bright, customer service style voice which she never usually finds an opportunity to use.

Slabs scratches his chin thoughtfully. "It's only a quarter for a whole cup? This stuff's terrible, right?" he asks suspiciously.

"Oh, no. Only the best quality beans used in our coffee. 25 cents too high for you? How about a dime?" She tries not to sound nervous.

"Sold, then! Heh. That's how you haggle for a cup of joe. So what's your story?" he asks, leaning one forearm against the fragile wooden structure.

Karen blinks. "Huh? Um, sorry?"

"Opening up a coffee stand on the side of a quiet road like this? All by yourself?" Is he smelling a rat already? No, keep calm. Oh, maybe they weren't so well-prepared after all...  
"Seems like a bad business angle to me. Nice young lady like you could be doing more with herself."

"Oh, well, you know." She swallows, turning to pour his coffee out into a paper cup. "I wanted to start something of my own, from scratch. My own business. Who knows, maybe I'll be wildly successful someday, and everybody will know my name."

Slabs laughs. "I respect that! I built my own restaurant from scratch and now it is pretty successful, if I do say so myself. The Trusty Slab, just up that way." He points up the road. "It's great to dream big, don't get me wrong, but couldn't you have opened up a little café or something instead?"

"What can I say? I'm ambitious _and_ I have my quirks. Sugar?"

"All of it. I got a sweet tooth." He winks.

She pours the white powder into the cup, stirring it vigorously with a little wooden stick. He takes the drink from her hand, passing her a dime.

"Keep the change," he jokes sardonically. "Hey, maybe charge a little more if you do actually open a shop, okay sweetheart?"

"I'll keep that in mind, Sir. Have a pleasant day!" She waves him off.

After a beat, when Slabs is comfortably seated back in his car and driving away at speed, Charleston pops the top of his head up to peek over the wooden countertop he's been hiding under.  
"He's gone? You're sure? Ugh, what an ego!" he scoffs, standing up straight and audibly cracking his back in several places. “‘Sweetheart’? And he just had to namedrop his fucking restaurant like you'd be impressed or something. So puerile!"

Karen glances down at her watch, ignoring him. "He'll be getting to the Trusty Slab in about five minutes. The drink should knock him off his feet pretty quickly after that, if he starts drinking it while he's driving. Which gives _you_ your window of opportunity to get over there and snatch him up before he snaps out of it." She turns to look over Charleston assessingly before adding, "You'd better not be having any second thoughts now."

He reaches toward her, taking her hand gently in his and squeezing it. For a moment, she ceases being Ms. Bossyboots Karen and blushes a little, looking down at their hands intertwined to hide her pink cheeks behind her long brown hair. “You gotta be out of your mind. This is so exciting! Phase two, let's go! I'll see you back at the Crumb Basket tonight to tell you all about my victory!” He sounds like a hyperactive child on Christmas morning.

“Wait! You're sure you have everything?” she asks sceptically, snatching her hand away and eyeing the large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “And what do you mean ‘ _your_ ’ victory? You wouldn’t have gotten even this far without me.”

He nods, not returning her gaze but instead turning away to look up the street. “Alright, ‘our’. Yes Karen, I have everything. We went over it about fourteen times! Don't look at me like that, I know it was my idea to do it so many times. Look, I don't have time for this, remember – I have a jackass to go torture!” He bellows out an evil laugh then gives her a quick two-fingered salute before sprinting away up the road after Slabs.

“’Kay, guess I’ll just dismantle all this stuff by myself, then! Good luck!” she calls over in a sarcastic tone. She only ever talks to him like that out of affection, she knows deep down. He exasperates her with his weirdness at the best of times, but in truth she does feel excited for the man – in fact she has a good feeling about the execution of their whole plan today. In a hushed voice, she adds, “Love ya.”

Way up the street, Charleston darts into an alley to catch his breath, peeking round from behind the wall at Slabs, who is currently nearby trying to unlock the door to his restaurant in a tipsy state. It takes him one, two, three attempts to get the key into the hole, the sight of which causes Charleston to snicker at his expense. He tails him inside moments later, turning the ‘OPEN’ sign back around to read ‘CLOSED' to anyone outside wishing to come in.

“Those pesky buffoons had better not interrupt me in my plan...” he whispers to himself. Well, however close to whispering his loud voice can go.  
Admittedly, the only Trusty Slab employee about whom they’d had any concerns while plotting was Jimbob; he is, after all, the only one of the two who will actually _want_ to work today. Manward will simply see the sign and turn around to go home, no questions asked. He never even needs an excuse to be a lazy curmudgeon.  
Charleston'll deal with that when the time comes, though, so for now there is only his arch nemesis to consider. Somewhat timidly, he tiptoes over towards the door to Slabs' office. Fuck it, he thinks, opening it up and peering round into the room brazenly. His shifty gaze is met with the sight of an unconscious Slabs slumped over his desk, empty coffee cup discarded on the floor by his feet.

“Eugene? You feeling alright over there, buddy?” Knowing full well that he is anything but ‘alright’. Charleston's starting to feel brave. “Jeez, what time is it? You’re a mess, Slabs. That's no fit state to be running things round here.” He saunters over, reaches out one long finger and uses it to peel back one of the drugged man's eyelids, inspecting the un-dilating pupil before letting it snap closed again. No response whatsoever. Charleston can't fight off the torrent of giggles that threaten to escape him. “Don't you think it's about time I took the wheel?” he purrs delightedly.

Swiping the huge loop of keys from Slabs' belt, he re-enters the main lobby and locks the big glass door up once more. It's not too hard for him to select the right key; after all, the gold-coloured one with the giant ‘TS’ engraved on it gives it away almost immediately. There’s no sign of any employees or customers yet as it's still too early for that - at least time is being his friend. All is going to plan so far. Slinging the heavy duffel bag off his shoulder, he watches it descend down through the open trapdoor of the basement, hitting the floor below with a clang. Then he jogs back to check on Slabs, half-afraid that he might have disappeared somehow while his back was turned. Mercifully he is still there, dozing just like before.  
Charleston realises that this next part will probably be the hardest part physically, but he's done so well up to now, why should he let this be the part that derails him? Positioning himself behind the sleeping giant and sliding both arms forward to loop under Slabs' own, he heaves him upward. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to get such a considerably more heavy-set male on his feet, Charleston cursing like a sailor and straining so hard that a vein stands to attention on the centre of his forehead during the process, but eventually he manages to do so.

“God you need to lose weight. A ton of it,” he mutters, pausing a moment to collect himself before beginning the gruelling task of hauling Slabs’ dead weight down into the chilly basement. He takes each step one at a time, facing backwards, both arms bent up to the sky still supporting Slabs' underarms. Every time he takes another step back, right foot shakily joining the left, his rival's heels thump down, ragdoll-like, onto the step above that. When they both finally make it right to the bottom, he huffs and wipes his forehead with one shirtsleeve, heart hammering against his chest wall. He wants to take his time, to take advantage of and savour in his worst enemy’s temporarily vulnerable, comatose state but there just isn't enough time to do it. The sedative they’ve slipped him is not a measured dose, and when used clinically can only put down a grown man of Slabs’ size for a matter of thirty minutes maximum before he is fully conscious once more. His huge body lain out on the ground reminds Charleston of a lion that has been tranquilised; perfectly safe so long as you bide your time well and take care of everything that needs to be done before it wakes up and realises that you, his prey, are far too close.

Without further ado, Charleston sets to work on restraining his foe in much the same way he had been restrained by him in this exact spot all those months ago: Slabs' hands are fastened high above him, legs strapped to the cold brick wall behind. And the icing on the cake, nestled away in the magic bag – a shiny new ball gag. Although he doesn't want to apply that just yet; it would be nice to hear Slabs' screams for a while first, he thinks fondly.

Charleston thinks back to his own capture on that first fateful day. He'd been lurking, just as usual, namely in the back alley of the Trusty Slab in the midst of a break-in attempt through the staff door so he could swipe the secret recipe from wherever it had lain back then. Slabs often has Jimbob move it from place to place as a security measure, in order to keep Charleston on his toes, but he’d been fairly confident about its exact location on this particular occasion. There was, however, with all his attention being focused solely on that one thing, something that he had not been suspecting. For the next thing he'd known, he'd been blindsided and struck across the side of his head with a forceful blow from a pretty solid object – possibly just Slabs' big meaty hand, in retrospect. When he had reeled, stunned by this sudden and completely unexpected attack from behind, Slabs had tightened his bicep around his neck. Oh, how Charleston had thrashed, struggling and gasping for oxygen, but he had quickly been rendered unconscious. Then he had come to, tied up and gagged in this very basement.

Slabs is beginning to come to now himself. His eyes are glassy and distant as they slowly open, squinting over at Charleston but seemingly unable to focus on him. He looks like he can't even register the man being stood in front of him, who is watching his every action fascinatedly. He makes a low, sleepy noise of confusion that rumbles through his chest.

“Uhhhn... hmmn? Wh-Wha?”

“Wakey wakey, Eugene baby. Gee, it's not like you to fall asleep on the job. What kind of example are you setting for those moronic employees of yours?” Charleston stands directly in front of him with hands on both hips, leaning his upper body forward smugly while he speaks.

Slabs’ eyes flash with recognition as he regains a hold of his faculties. “Charleston... y-youuu...” he slurs his words and looks green as though he might hurl. “Fuckin' little asshole...”

The skinny man simply snickers and continues. “Well you won't have to worry about the two of them today, buddy. We're gonna spend the next few hours alone together, gloriously uninterrupted. And boy do I have some ideas in mind for what we can get up to.”

His adversary begins to fight now, pressing hard against the restraints with each limb, but it's no use. He already knows this; he is the one who put them there for this very reason, after all. He growls in frustrated anger.

“Don't try it, Eugene. You’re my pet now. Bet you didn't think I could ever actually pull something like this off, right? Oh and don't struggle, you’re only embarrassing yourself.” Charleston points a finger in his face, jabbing it into one dazed eyeball spitefully. “I can do whatever I want, see? Haha!”

Slabs curses bitterly, blinking hard and glaring up at him under his furrowed brow. “Ohh, you are gonna be dead when I'm let go. I'm gonna wring that neck of yours and this time I'll finish the job.”

“Ah, you'll kill me, will you? Well good luck with that.”

“I'll make you _wish_ I killed you.” Slabs keeps his voice dangerously low, never once raising it to yell or bluster. It causes Charleston a dreadfully cold sensation to run slowly across his scalp and down his spine, but he ignores it, clearing his throat and marching over to his duffel bag virtually unphased.  
He takes his time in lining up a number of torture instruments across the floor, many of them simply tools he often uses to build equipment with; he has no intention of actually seriously harming the man with them, only scaring him – these would all be utterly foreign objects to the geezer anyway, their real purpose lost on him. Charleston wants to make him feel as small and frightened as he typically does while in Slabs’ presence. It would be nice to draw a little blood, though, he thinks. For shits and giggles. Maybe he’d even take a finger home as a trophy.  
He glances round, teeth glinting mischievously, at Slabs staring straight ahead at the opposing wall. He thinks he momentarily detects a look of worry cross the face of his captive as he selects his weapon of choice. While that emboldens him to some degree, it’s still not enough for a gloating Charleston.

“I have to hand it to you Slabs, you're taking this a lot better than I pictured you would. I’d hoped you'd be weeping like a baby by now,” he scoffs, crossing over to face him again with a sharp bladed instrument clutched in one hand. Slabs, not breaking eye contact, keeps his expression hard and steely.

“You mean like you did all those times I beat you? Please. Some of us are more man than that, _Sheldon_.” His mouth quirks up a little in amusement at his jibe.

Charleston pauses, blanks for a moment, then decides to force a laugh. “Very cocky of you, considering the position you’re in currently.” Holding the sharp metal closer to his enemy’s unflinching eyes, his tone turns aggressive. “But then you always were an old fool. I could slit your fat belly open with this right now, you pig. Let’s see you act so brave then.”

It's the other man's turn to laugh now. “You crack me up! Now you are crazy but we both know you don't have it in you to do something like that! Give it up, man.” He clicks his tongue, the way he always does when he is about to deliver some devastating blow to Charleston’s ego. “You’re no good at playing the tough guy.”

Charleston has allowed his nemesis’ jabbing words to get to him, grinding his teeth, holding the edge of the blade to Slabs' jugular. Slabs flinches for half a second as the cold metal kisses his throat, before catching himself and levelling with the crazed man's glare once again. Charleston begins to drag the tool, feather-light, along his neck and down across his chest, covering the exposed skin of his open collar.  
“I will do it, just you wait. I'll do it and you can’t stop me. Goddamn it!” His hand trembles in a mixture of anger and stage-fright. The unavoidable truth is that he's not meant for this kind of thing - it's one thing fantasising about having his enemy kneel to him, but another entirely to make such fantasies a reality. Charleston tries his best to push this fact back into the furthest reaches of his subconscious, but Slabs is doing everything in his power to pull it right back to the forefront again.

“Then do it.” It seems as though Slabs is trying to press himself harder against the blade in an act of defiance. Sensing Charleston’s uncertainty, he goes in on him. “You can copy all my methods, tie me up, flaunt all you like, but you’ll never truly be the boss of me,” he purrs into his ear once they’re closer together. “You and me, we’re made of different stuff, okay? You were made to be brought to heel by guys like me, and I was made to bring you to heel. Nobody else but you.” Charleston goes to step back but Slabs inches his chest even closer, pushing the restraints to their limits and causing a small cut to be inflicted on himself in the process. He doesn't react at all as a droplet of blood oozes out from the wound and runs down the handle of the tool. Charleston nearly drops the thing the moment he glances down and realises that his adversary is clearly, achingly hard.  
“Let me go and I'll show you what a real man is capable of.”

“You’re a sick fuck,” Charleston realises disgustedly, stumbling backwards.

“Said the creep who roofied my morning coffee. That’s rich! Oh don’t look at me like that you idiot, of course I figured that out already! It was, I don’t know, around the time I just about fell out of my fucking car that I put it together. You hire that bitch just to act as your little siren bait?” He detects a half-second flicker of some unfathomable emotion flit across Charleston’s face. “Ahh,” he continues. “So that’s who she is to you.”

Charleston blanches and jumps straight on the defence. “What do you mean, ‘who she is’? Watch your mouth, Eugene!” he all but shouts. Slabs chuckles darkly, deliberately, shaking his head and tutting. He’s hit a soft spot, and now his silver tongue is in full flow.

“Sheldon has a little crush, I see how it is! How’d you recruit the lass anyway? What, you find her at the local high school? Try to pay her in candy?”

Charleston’s ears are beginning to redden with poorly-suppressed rage. “She is a _grown adult_!” he bristles, knuckles turning white from tightly clenched fists.

“Well, she’s about half your age. No, no, you tried to pay her in something else I bet. Gave her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Why do you look so mad, champ? Awww. Did she turn down the chance to fuck a middle-aged manchild like you? Nah what am I even saying, she’s such a whore she probably put out with no hesitation. She was flirting with me earlier for sure. Daddy issues I reckon. Hey, could you give me her number? I could use a good-”  
Slabs is cut off by an abrupt knee to the groin. He groans and coughs, winded by pain but unable to slouch over like his body wants him to. Looking up quick as a flash, all trace of mirth from his roasting of Karen is gone from his eyes, replaced by pure malice. That stony face is back as it bores directly into Charleston.  
“Harrg, fucking cocksucker! You’re gonna wish you never did that,” he promises evilly through gritted teeth.

“Oh, sure. And when will that be? ‘Cuz to me it looks like you’re out of action,” Charleston snipes, some much-needed confidence returning at last. “You’re slow, you’re stupid, and most of all, you’re _weak_ , Slabs.” He chooses his words precisely to vaguely echo the ones that Slabs spoke to him in his bedroom all that time ago. “How does that make you feel, huh?”  
Throwing his head back in more evil laughter, Charleston decides that now will be the perfect time to shut the old codger up for good with the special item he has still stashed away, hidden from view in his bag. He’s been saving it for last, until just the ideal time and he can’t wait to see the look on Slabs’ big, dumb face when-

These musings are abruptly cut short by a sort of tearing sound coming from a few feet before him, where Slabs is stood immobilised. Or at least... he _was_ immobile just a minute ago, that was until he’d managed to literally rip the leather restraints from the wall with one fiendishly strong thigh like a tree trunk. As Charleston gawps over at him, he soon follows suit with the other leg before prying both slippery hands free from the cuffs at the same time. Charleston is awe-stricken and can only stutter dumbly as the torn-open cuffs swing to and fro from the ceiling.  
“H-How? This can’t be happ- How did you-?”

“Come here right now.” Slabs motions toward himself with a curl of his finger. No joking around, not even a trace of any vague amusement left in his expression or tone. His body language is heavy, menacing, predator-like.

The younger man swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. He fakes a laugh nervously. “Ahahah... you’re not seriously mad, right? I didn’t actually mean all that stuff I said. It wasn’t supposed to, uh, exactly happen like this. This whole thing was just a, ah, little j-joke? Between old friends?”

“GET YOUR ASS THE FUCK OVER HERE.”

“O-Oh god, um- okay, okay, sorry. I’m sorry.” Charleston hangs his head, dragging his feet meekly over to Slabs.

“I’ll make sure you are.” Reaching to grab him, planning on slamming him into the wall hard enough to break several bones, he is taken by surprise when Charleston suddenly leaps back and away from his clutches as though scalded. The nimble man begins sprinting for the exit, then remembers the front door to the restaurant is locked - he probably won’t have enough time to fiddle with the lock and key, not that he even recalls where he put the thing. He’ll just have to smash through somehow.  
Or... at least he would do that, if Slabs hadn’t just jumped with all his weight behind it and slammed him down into the floor belly-down. Neither of them has ever heard such a sound come from Charleston prior, as all the air from his lungs is forcefully ejected and his ribs knock painfully against the concrete, front teeth narrowly missing clipping the edge of a stone step. Evidently his once cat-like reflexes are not so sharp anymore and, regardless, are no match for Eugene’s own.

Charleston, shimmying from side to side, tries in vain to extricate himself from under the older man’s great weight, wincing in pain as he is crushed down upon. Just when all seems lost he resorts to throwing his head back full force, catching Slabs directly on the tip of his nose with a CRACK, causing his aggressor to yell and raise a hand up to catch the blood now trickling from both flared nostrils. It dribbles down into his mouth and he gurgles, sputtering while Charleston takes this small window of opportunity to crawl clumsily forward, gangly limbs a blur as he scarpers away like a rodent, clothing becoming visibly dusty from rolling around on the filthy basement floor.  
Slabs snarls, managing to catch one of Charleston’s ankles in midair. Grasping it with both hands, he brings it kicking up to his mouth and closes his entire jaw around it, biting down hard. Charleston gasps in shock, then screams. It stops him in his tracks long enough for Slabs to pounce on him again, now using his hands to roughly turn the runt on his back and wrap them around his little throat. He can feel the blood coursing through the jugular there, the pounding pulse racing with adrenaline from their tussle.

Squeezing, he leers, “See, I don’t need any rape drugs. I like to render you unconscious the old-fashioned way.” Accentuating this point by squeezing down even harder, he is satisfied with the other man’s frightened expression. Slab’s bloody nose drips in spatters onto Charleston’s face, the drops running off sideways to collect in his messy hair.

Charleston chokes, eye rolling back in his head as the pressure builds. He thinks that his tormentor is saying more to him, but he is being choked so roughly that he cannot hear a word of it, only the blood pumping in his ears and a faint, dull whistle. Slabs is wrestling with his poor neck and putting so much force into his strangling that his head is being lifted up from the ground and back down again violently. All he is aware of aside from these things is the unmistakable feeling of Slab’s hardness boring into his inner thigh. Desperately, he raises his hands and weakly tries to scratch at Slabs with his fingernails, but only misses his target – his sense of perspective is utterly skewed; for all he can tell, Slab’s ugly mug could be over on the other side of the room while his own hands flail around in front of his fading vision.  
In response to this, Slabs only leans his head up a tad further to avoid another assault and removes one hand from Charleston’s throat in order to deliver a cruel backhanded slap across his cheek before returning it to his throat and smiling humourlessly. Charleston can’t even feel it, his vision going black around the edges, and the next thing he knows his heartrate is totally erratic and his whole body is being lifted, as though flying through the air. For one brief, sweet moment, he feels totally at peace as if floating on a cloud. This only lasts all of around two seconds, however, as when he comes round from his little trip he finds that he has in fact been carried by Slabs up into his office where he is now bent forward over the man’s desk.

His head swims and he shakes it a little - he feels like he should have stars whizzing round it like in the old cartoons. “Eugene,” he begins, his voice cracking. Clearing his throat a few times, he feels his neck and winces at how tender it already is to touch. There’ll probably be plenty of finger mark bruising there tomorrow morning, that is if he makes it out of here alive today. “Please, ah. Don’t hurt me. I never wanted to hurt you.”  
Slabs rolls his eyes, but Charleston continues grovelling anyway like the fool he is. “I admit it, I had a plan to rough you up, humiliate you, maybe cut you and make you bleed, b-but nothing major! Nothing that would cause you serious damage in the long run. Eugene, I-I don’t know what you want to do to me this time but-”

“I’d tell you if you stopped yappin’. You’re only digging yourself a deeper hole.”

Charleston shudders, but against his best interests keeps yapping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do any of this. I really didn’t want us to end up like this, Eugene. Oh my- oh my god, I think I’m having a panic attack. I wanna go home, please...” He buries his face in his arms and begins to cry.

Slabs looks once more like he wants to throw up. “I’ll give you something to cry about in a minute or two,” he warns quietly, reaching down to remove his belt. Charleston’s ears prick up at the chinking sound, and he sobs harder, trying but failing to appeal to Slabs’ compassionate side and earn some pity... if such a side of him exists at all.  
Predictably all the weeping and hyperventilating only serves to anger Slabs more as he reaches over to slam the younger man’s head into the solid oak wood of the desk, hard. Charleston only continues his whimpered “oh gods” repeatedly until Slabs can’t stand to listen to him anymore.

“There should be some duct tape in here somewhere... a-ha!” he exclaims, rifling through the top drawer of his desk where he apparently keeps all manner of miscellaneous supplies. Admittedly he never planned for them to come into use in such a way as this, but he wasn’t complaining if it meant that he could shut Sheldon’s pathetically obsequious display up right now. Grabbing the silver tape and fixing two thick strips over a surprised Charleston’s mouth before tearing them off the roll, he then wraps it several times around the man’s wrists, which he has pulled behind his back uncomfortably to rest on his tailbone, rendering his arms completely immobile. Throwing the roll of tape to the side, he discards his belt too.  
“Should have brought that lass along with you, I’d much rather have her bent over my desk, ass in the air,” he comments to himself dryly. “Be nice to have you tied to that chair over there too. Make you watch. I’d look you straight in your eye as I cum in her.”

Charleston groans through the tape, squeezing his eye shut and wishing he could press his palms over his ears. Thank GOD Karen hadn’t come... what the hell would have happened? She seemed like the kind who would fight back and get one over on old man Slabs, maybe taking the old brute by surprise. Maybe she would kick him where it hurts if he tried anything, not that he would really, he supposes, because he isn’t actually the type to treat others in such a way, least of all a woman. Just Charleston. Only Charleston.

“Yep, if she could see you now... oh boy... perhaps she wouldn't be so quick to wet her panties over you,” Slabs says, pressing his body down into that of his nemesis, pinning him to the table. Still standing at full attention. He seems to be drawing this latest punishment out deliberately, the atmosphere electrifying as tension builds to the point where all the air in his little office feels hot and thick, hanging heavy between the two men. Charleston’s weeping comes out muffled.  
“You know Sheldon, you really are the worst kind of coward. You came back here again just so I could do this, eh? My fingers weren’t enough before? You needed to feel this-” His hips begin to grind slowly up and down against Charleston’s still-clothed behind- “inside you. What a little slut. But look at you, blubbering before I’ve even pulled your pants down.”

Charleston has to admit to himself that what his rival is saying is not so far from the truth, actually; somewhere deep within himself, there is some insatiable desire which has lain dormant for more years than he cares to think of. One that had been satisfied, to some degree, for a long time - back in the two business rivals’ younger days together, by the real fast food tycoon’s continuous victories over him. Getting truly put in his place in the most profound way, those times in the basement and on his own bed, had really awoken that deep-seated part of his psyche now, to the point where he couldn’t tell if this was the last thing in the world he wanted or the first. The way that Slabs could always seem to read his body language like a book didn’t help this conflicted feeling to go away either.

Craning his neck round as far as it will allow, he looks back at the much larger man briefly, noting the way those steel blue eyes are gazing back at him like he is a prime cut of meat about to be guzzled down and savoured sweetly. Blood has dried in streaks all the way down Slabs’ mouth and chin, as well as in spots on the collar of his grubby pale blue shirt. Charleston quickly looks away and, blinking away his tears, rests his forehead back down onto the cool polished wood of the desk. This too shall pass, he reassures himself mentally while firm hands loop around his hips to unbutton his pants. They drop to his ankles and Slabs manhandles his bare backside with a grip hard enough to bruise, positioning it up and ready for him to use. It seems obvious that both men have thought about this before; this is all happening too naturally as though all the years they’ve known each other have been leading up to it, guiding them both to this point. Their entire colourful history could never have realistically culminated in anything other than sex eventually, for the two of them just had far too much unresolved tension which would not go away unless one of them died or Slabs fucked his rival senseless. They both knew this, it was the reason Charleston was drawn back here so often like a moth to a flame, as if fate had at last dealt its hand.

Charleston can feel the breeze from the AC tickling him back there in a place where it usually cannot reach, and the sensation is not unpleasant, but it reminds him of just how exposed his body now is for the man stood looming over him. His imposing presence and not so subtle boner still pressing into his buttocks from behind sends a signal to Charleston’s brain to release that heady burst of endorphins, that concoction of both fear and curious arousal that floods through his system in one ambrosial rush.

Slabs doesn’t bother to prepare him, of course; he doesn’t want to give him the pleasure of getting fingered again, instead wishing only to cause the younger man the agony he has so long deserved. All Charleston hears before his vision blurs around the edges once again is an unzipping sound followed by Slabs’ own heavy breathing as burning pain takes over any and all other sensation. Slabs angles his chin downward, spits out a large glob of saliva which hangs down in one stringy, long strand to pool at the base of his dick. He uses his fingers to wipe it up and down his length, still pushing forcefully inside the tight ring of muscle with a slight wince. He inhales sharply as the head slides fully in.  
Charleston is absolutely beside himself, dreading to think how he would sound without the tape masking his cries; would he be cursing the pain, cursing Slabs, or begging him to stop? Or not to stop, even?

He knows this is far more than he can take, but being here in the manager’s office, in the belly of the beast, with said beast forcing himself inside him at this exact moment... with absolutely nothing he can do to stop such an act, the only available option being to lay there bent over like a cheap whore and take it? It makes him want to die on the spot.

“I know you’ve never done this before but god _damn_ that is tight... fucking Christ,” Slabs mumbles as he finally manages to sheath his entire cock inside the trembling man beneath him - should he be feeling so weirdly proud at such a remark? Granted though Charleston has more pressing things to worry about at present, namely the huge throbbing thing scraping at his insides back and forth and the way that Slabs’ voice seems to be as he begins to fuck him; almost flustered-sounding. He would be hard himself if not for the incomparable pain he is in from that feeling of being fucked into, his little hole still too dry and unaccustomed to such a girth. It burns, his muscles can’t help but clench in an attempt to push it back out and Slabs certainly isn’t giving him any time to adjust to the intrusion. Taking a deep breath he tries to relax every muscle to make things that much easier, then yelps and whines through the tape as the pace quickens abruptly, catching him a little by surprise. Another sensation joins the others, this time a sickly wet feeling back there.

Slabs lets out his dark chuckle. “What was it you were telling me earlier? You wanted to draw a little blood today? Well, mission accomplished.” His cock slides in and out to the hilt more freely now due to the added lubrication of Charleston’s own blood. He thinks the guy may have torn him open already, which can’t be good, although Eugene’s blatant display of sexual sadism is enough to cause his head to spin much more than any of the slapping or choking did earlier on this morning.

After a few more deep strokes, Slabs stops and pulls out completely to drop his own trousers to the floor. Stepping out of the leg-holes and resuming his position behind Charleston’s pert asscheeks so that they are skin to skin, he repositions himself at the man’s abused entrance and sheaths himself inside in one hard push, earning himself an ear-splitting shout and full-body jolt in response. Charleston tries impulsively to slither away from the pain further into the desk, but its edge sticks uncomfortably into his abdomen and his abuser simply pulls him back with a muttered curse anyway.  
“Just leave your body, Sheldon. 'Cause I won't be leaving it anytime soon,” he drawls, blithely tasting each of his words while pounding him silly.

Now they are free of the barrier of clothes, thrusts getting harder and faster, the beautiful sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air around them over and over, again and again while backed with the garbled sounds spilling out from Charleston’s front end, albeit mostly muffled by the duct tape. With words robbed of him, all he can do is groan and whimper, and sometimes scream when Slabs hits that particular spot deep inside him nice and hard.  
Slabs actually moans as he edges closer to his release. “This will _not_ be the last time... fuuuck, why did I wait so long... so hot and tight for me. Fuck, damn-” He slams into the smaller man just once more, filling him to his limit, leaning over to bury his nose in his tousled brunette locks. They smell of sweet hazelnut and coppery blood. Slabs stutters his hips through the strong orgasm that rocks through him, shouting as he fills Charleston with hot cum. They remain like that for around a minute, with the larger man simply too spent to want to remove himself from the tight heat enveloping him. Eventually though, his flaccid dick slips out and he steps back, breathing heavily, to watch with fascination as his rival’s stretched hole deposits his seed back out again, the semen dribbling down the man's balls and running slow and thick down both thighs. He makes no effort to break free from his wrist bondage or to cover his dignity this time around – after all, what would be the point now?

Slabs smiles and walks over to regard him, squatting down to his eye level.  
“I take it back. There’s no way that bitch would ever be as tight as you. Thanks for the quickie.” He stands and departs from the room, making his way toward the employee bathroom and leaving Charleston alone to figure out an escape. He’s a slippery smart cookie; he’ll figure it out.

_Back at the Crumb Basket..._

Karen sits staring out the open door at the cars passing by in the street, daydreaming by herself. Maybe she should have gone to help him realise his plan in person... or asked him to modify his headphones so she could listen in and communicate with him back and forth whilst he works on Slabs. But she doesn’t want to be too overbearing in a situation where it isn’t exactly her place to take control, especially when winning means so much to Charleston. Either way, it’s too late now. She just hopes he’s having fun realising his destiny. Today is a good day.  
“I think I’ll tell him when he comes back. Yeah, it’s time. I’ll tell him I love him.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little meme I made in tribute to this story finally coming to an end (I have no plans to write any more Trusty Slab anytime soon).


End file.
